


the sharpest lives (are the deadliest to lead)

by holy_smokes



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Cultural Differences, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Femme Klaus, Flashbacks, Fuckboi!Diego (he's kind of a loveable asshole), Homophobic Language, Humor, Imprisonment, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Marijuana, Multi, Murder Mystery, Past Abuse, Queer Five, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Unsafe Sex, Violence, Witchcraft, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-15 13:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18500020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holy_smokes/pseuds/holy_smokes
Summary: It’s been 11 years since Klaus was home. Nothing ever happens in that quiet seaside town. Nothing except that fateful night, eleven years ago.All he wants is to pick up from where he left off. Become a beautician, move to the city, meet a boy. His bosses, Five and Allison, are fascinated and wary in equal measure but it’s the son of a neighbor - clueless, gorgeous, cocky Diego - that he can't shake from his mind.Do you try and evolve or do you try and accept who you are?





	1. Part 1: Hello, 911?

**Author's Note:**

> This just took over my life for the past two days, it's like I can't stop writing it! Inspired by a BBC comedy/drama called Back to Life plus all the fab mysterious fic in the tag right now. I think this will be 2 or 3 chapters long and I'll try and get that up within the next day or two. I really hope you enjoy it, it's more crack and weirdness than anything else, but, yeah... I have had a blast writing it. Kudos and comments are welcome, love ya!

 

**

Eleven years is a lot of time to lose.

And yet, those years have passed in the blink of an eye.

Taking his belongings with shaking hands, one final glance at the enormous building, Klaus can barely breathe. It’s been _eleven years_. 154 months. Stepping out into fresh air, feet on concrete that he hasn’t walked on for so long, Grace stands with a smile and Reginald behind her, hands in his pockets.

“Mom, Dad,” Klaus whispers, quickly scooped into Grace’s loving embrace.

“Eleven years,” Reginald murmurs, eyeing Klaus suspiciously, “you’ve missed out on a lot, son.”

**

 

Klaus winds the window down, lets his head loll out the side as if he’s a puppy, excited by the rush of the warm summer air. His parents say nothing on the drive home, radio crackling to mask the silence. Klaus can’t stop smiling. Everything is wondrous, from the slow movements of the traffic lights to the smell of food as they drive through seaside high streets until they’re in suburbia, back to Edinburgh Drive.

Everything looks exactly the same.

“Here we are, honey,” Grace smiles, reaching behind herself to stroke her son’s face. Klaus climbs out once they’re parked up, still acutely aware of Grace’s fussing and his Father’s watchful, quiet judgment. He pulls the too big jacket tighter across his wiry frame.

“I bet you’re excited to see your room,” Grace nods, smile too stretched to be genuine.

“Sure, Mom,” Klaus returns. He takes slow steps in the house, still large and old fashioned. He remembers the piano, the way Grace used to play it and he’d sing silly songs and he notes that their carpets is exactly the same, even down to the red wine stains that Klaus had spilt into it on his sixteenth birthday. The old house smells just as it did in his memories, Mom’s perfume and Dad’s cigars clinging in the air. Klaus isn’t aware he’s just been standing, savoring it, until he senses their awkward stares.

“I’m fine,” he swears, dodging out of their way and upstairs. It’s not like he’s forgotten where his childhood bedroom is. Everything’s the same yet he feels like an intruder, pushing open the door, taking nervous steps inside. His posters of Bowie, Madonna and his own final year Art work are still tacked onto the walls, the paper edges frayed. Bowie’s face is discolored from the sunlight that’s beamed through the window and onto his face all these years, a shadow of his former self and that’s when he sees their photo, just hiding under Bowie.

They were thirteen. He strokes his thumb over Ben’s face.

Klaus doesn’t realize he’s crying until he is, until it settles on his chest lightly, eyes welling; until it moves into his stomach and he’s doubled over, sobbing into his hand.

He doesn’t want them to hear.

 

**  
_  
“Hello, 911, what’s your emergency?”_

  
**

 

Diego could quite frankly kill his brother for this fuck-up. He’s supposed to be spending Friday with the hot piece of ass he’s finally managed to convince to let him into her panties. He's talked a big game about taking her to eat out for brunch and then home to eat _her_ out for lunch but, _no_ , Luther had to royally fuck up and get his shifts wrong so it’s Diego’s duty to go and see Mom. He hates this shithole seaside town at the best of times, thankful he’s a good hour and a half away in the city, but he’ll admit to himself he barely bothers with their old lady and Luther - perfect, dutiful Luther - is much better at the whole 'keep Mommy alive and smiley' thing.

He made her soup at least. It takes like ass, sadly, but he has fuck all spice in and if he buys her a tin of 99 cent soup she’ll just moan. If he tells her it’s homemade, it doesn’t even matter, he’ll get a pinched cheek and “ _such a good boy, my Diego_ ,” so she’s having the soup, ass flavored or not.

He lands the car messily, unstrapping and grabbing the dreaded soup from the back seat when he sees old man Hargreeves and his lady opening their front door. They always look like something out of a dusty 50s film, Hargreeves with his vintage glasses and old coat, the nice looking blonde in a skirt and red lipstick. Diego will never know why a good looking broad like Mrs. Hargreeves sticks with that sour-faced looking toad but money does wonders. It’s not like his own Mom was any different, only moving here because his stepdad had the cash to do so. He stays watching because it isn’t just the two of them clambering outside but a tall, slim man he’s never seen before accompanies them, the most unusual looking creature in a neighborhood like this. The man is wearing a hot pink top far too small for him, riding up to show pale flesh, and tight black jeans. Sure enough when Diego checks the old man’s face, he isn’t pleased, looking at the younger man with an expression of confusion mixed with irritation. Diego leans against his old banger of a car as Mrs. Hargreeves turns around, brushes the long curls out of the man’s face and leans in to place a kiss on his cheek.

“ - be long, son,” Diego about hears, before the two begin to trot off to their car, Diego focusing back on the odd, pretty stranger.

The pretty stranger looks straight at him and it takes every sense of Diego’s to keep looking, not to flinch away and pretend he wasn’t staring. He isn’t soft, not about to start twirling his hair around his finger, he _wants_ Curls to know he’s intrigued so he folds his arms, flexes, and continues to stare back.

He can’t pretend it doesn’t bruise his ego when Curls barely blushes, just eventually slips back inside without so much as a smile.

**

 

It’s day four of being back in the land of the free and Klaus remembers how annoying it was living with his parents at the age of 18, never mind at the age of 29.

“Mom?” he shouts, running down the stairs, “Mom, I need new clothes. Nothing fits me.”

“Klaus,” his Father tuts from behind his newspaper, propped up at the kitchen table, “you’re still the same slip of a boy as you were before, don’t be dramatic.”

“Well, maybe,” Klaus rolls his eyes, “but half my t-shirts are One Direction fanboy shirts. I can’t wear those now.”

“Why not, darling?” Grace asks, creepily robotic as ever, pouring from the teapot.

“Well, for one, Zayn left, and he was by far the hottest,” Klaus informs her - an obvious point but Mom has never been one for the obvious - “and also, they’re not a thing anymore. We did get to watch TV, you know. I’ll look stupid.”

“ _You’re_ worried about looking stupid?” His Father asks, peering over the top of his newspaper.

 _Suck a dick, Dad_.

“I want to get a job,” Klaus tells them, picking up a freshly baked muffin and rummaging around for a small plate. He grabs the butter and heads for a knife, only to find forks and spoons aplenty, but nothing sharp to smear with, as if suddenly knives weren’t a thing that existed in the Hargreeves household.

“Hey, Mom, where are the knives?”

As soon as he asks he realizes, his parents exchanging guilty looks with one another.

“Oh,” Klaus grins, “ _right,_ because you’re worried I’m going to turn around one day and slit your throats, is that the problem?”

Grace looks mortified. Reginald reaches for one of his expensive cigars.

“Don’t be dramatic, Klaus,” he repeats, his favorite demand.

Klaus picks up the muffin and stuffs it into his mouth whole.

**

 

There are pamphlets. He sees Mom reading one and she tries to disguise it, but he knows.

_How To Help Your Loved One Reintegrate into Society: A Helpful Guide_

He can’t bear to be cooped up in that slightly more comfortable prison than the previous one, but a prison nonetheless, so even though his Father frowns in disapproval and his Mother’s anxiously fusses, he leaves, slamming the door and storming off as if he really were eighteen again.

By God, it’s incredible, despite it all. He throws his arms into the air, twirls in the middle of the street, because these streets go on for miles and he’s free to wander them if he wishes.

He’s free.

As he reaches the middle of the town, his parents were right, he’ll give them that. Things have changed drastically. The bar he once frequented, _The Establishment_ , has been knocked down and turned into “luxury” flats. Well, the joke’s on the hipsters who move into them because they’ll be living on top of the ghost of eighteen year old Klaus, drunk on cherry liquor, who sucked so much cock in that bar it became a running joke.

He continues to stride through the center when he spots something new, pink paint everywhere.

_Second Chances._

“Ha _ha_ ,” Klaus says out loud, perhaps to God, if she’s listening, but he almost wants to take it back when he looks inside and sees the high rise white ceilings, painfully cool exposed lightbulbs hanging down, rows of soft pink chairs and some women sat in them, flipping through glossy magazines.

Second chances, indeed.

Klaus isn’t sure about fate but he’s walking in anyway, opening the door to breathe in the smell of nail varnish and hairspray, thrown off kilter as he spies himself in one of the many mirrors. He looks terrible in his ridiculously old clothes, too tight, hair not as shiny and soft as he used to pride himself on. A polished woman in incredible high heels clip-clops towards him.

“Hi, can I help you?” she asks, warm and confident.

“Yeah,” he nods, taking in her name badge, “Allison. Yeah. I, uh - I want to do… this,” he gestures.

“You want a hair do?” she asks, smiling, “your nails done?”

“Oh, no. I want a job,” he nods, not surprised by her confused smile.

“A job,” she says, “uh, well…”

“I always wanted to work in beauty,” Klaus says, the hazy memory of that still stuck in the back of his brain. Allison swishes her impressive mane of hair over one side of her shoulder before a lean, cute looking kid joins her, shoving a large mug of coffee into her perfectly manicured hands.

“Al, Mrs. Retford is a fucking _joke_ ,” the kid spits, genuinely furious, “I’m going to rip her throat out.”

“ _Five_ \- ” Allison snaps, “mind your tongue.”

Five blinks at Klaus as if he’s just noticed he’s there.

“Sorry, are you wanting an appointment?” Five asks, eighteen at most, Klaus guesses, “we could definitely sort out that mop for you.”

“Five!”

“It’s ok,” Klaus shrugs, “my hair looks like shit.”

Five grimaces, nodding in agreement.

“He was asking about a job,” Allison says, “we’ve just opened, so…”

“I do - I’ve just moved back home and I’m brand new but I’ll learn. I’ll be one of those apprentice types, that’s what people do nowadays, isn’t it?”

“Hmm,” Five shrugs, thinking about it, “what’s your name?”

“Klaus,” he confirms, waiting, praying that his weird fucking name doesn’t ring any bells. Thank God, Allison smiles at it, clearly nothing sinister going on in her mind but the kid - the sharp-tongued, angry, impeccably dressed kid - gasps.

“Klaus,” he accuses, “oh my god. _The_ Klaus?”

Klaus’s heart begins to race, fearful, hands on his body as he tries to shrink a little.

“Klaus Hargreeves?” Five pushes.

“Y-yeah,” Klaus confirms, because who else is he going to be? He can’t run from himself or his name. He can’t run from his past. He’s back here.

“Holy shit,” Five and his perfect hair exclaim, “I _love_ murderers.”

“Oh,” is all Klaus can say, feeling dizzy with anxiety, Allison alarmed by this new information. Klaus can’t blame her for taking several steps backwards. He wants to scream _no_ , wants to explain, but he has the sentence to prove it. Eleven years. It _was_ Klaus, at eighteen years of age, stood in that graveyard, _his_ body at his feet, _his_ blood.

There was so, _so_ much blood.

“Definitely, you’re hired,” Five remarks, absolutely delighted with how his day is working out, “first thing you can do is rinse Mrs. Retford’s ratty old hair. Can you do that, Klaus?”

“Are you serious?” both Klaus and Allison ask at the same time.

“ _Deadly,_ ” Five leans in before guffawing at his joke and strutting away. Klaus shrugs at Allison in apology.

“I won’t murder you,” he says, “I mean, I don't have any plans to, so...”

“Great,” she deadpans, downing her coffee in one.

**

 

Five shuts up shop like a maniac, running about so fast that Klaus thinks he might be flying but he also knows that’s physically impossible. He’s just so tiny, smaller than Klaus, so it’s hard to tell. Allison keeps her distance which Klaus understands. Once Mrs. Retford looked up and saw it was _Klaus Hargreeves_ washing her rinse out and screamed Five resigned him to broom duty.

Klaus can’t tell who’s in charge out of the two of them. He’s suspecting Five’s some kind of trust fund child, queer as hell, who’s enlisted the expensive support of a capable, savvy businesswoman to get his venture off the ground. No one’s told him to leave yet, so he doesn’t, just brushes and mops the floors until you could get on your knees and lick it without a worry. He doesn’t want to leave. It’s uneasy, the way Five keeps looking at him like he’s a celebrity, Allison looking at him like he’s an uncaged lion, but he’s out of his parent’s house and he’s doing something other than _thinking_ .

 

**

_“Hello, 911, what’s your emergency?”_

**

 

Once mops are away, doors are locked, blinds are twisted and it’s just the three of them, Five insists they congregate in the upstairs office, sleek and minimalist. He produces three cocktail glasses from absolutely nowhere and the largest bottle of gin Klaus has ever seen.

“I don’t drink,” Klaus says quickly. Last thing he needs is something showing up in his 3-weekly substance tests.

“Mocktails it is, then,” Five shrugs. Klaus knows what’s coming.

 _So, what you in for, huh_?

He should be grateful and he is, should this turn out the way he hopes it will. Gain the experience, maybe a qualification, earn a pittance, save it, leave for the bright city lights. It’s just that they’re looking at him curiously, Allison pouring a generous amount of gin in her ‘mocktail’ and he knows the questions are on the tip of their tongues.

“Klaus,” Five sips, “why are you _here_?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Five explains, as if Klaus is an idiot, “why come back? I mean, your name… I grew up scared of you. You’re _famous_.”

“I don’t - ” - _why won’t his voice work?_  - “I just want do my time. I mean, I did my time. I want to do my time on the outside. Before I can leave again.”

“Tell us what happened, then,” Five says, not fucking about. The entitlement Klaus hears in his voice makes him slam his glass down with a force that makes Allison yelp. He stands, angry, but without any outlet for the anger, sadness overtaking it at a terrifying speed when he sees how Allison looks at him, petrified. Five, the little freak, just looks excited.

“My life isn’t up for your salon gossip,” he tells Five, hating that despite their age difference he feels like a kid under the teenager’s brutal eyes, “ok?”

“Fine,” Five smiles, like Klaus is being just _oh so silly_ , which immediately makes Klaus feel like he is.

“Can I come back tomorrow?” Klaus checks, half in and half out of the office.

 _Please say yes, fuck, say yes, I’ll tell you the story if you just say yes_.

“Yes, Klaus Hargreeves,” Five swears, “you know... you’re really, _really_ good looking,” he adds.

Klaus isn’t sure what to do with that. It makes flouncing off in a huff extra hard when he starts to preen under the praise but when you’ve gone eleven years stone cold sober, no sex, no drugs, certainly no rock’n’roll, he’s like a little bird caught in a strong wind.

“Thanks,” he whispers, running away, too embarrassed for anything else.

**

 

Diego’s always shocked when Luther proves himself to not be brainless.

“You’re actively choosing to go see Mom again this week?” his big brother queried, paranoid, with every right to be.

“It’s so hard to believe I want to see my own Mother?” Diego had shot back at him as they supped on beer in an overpriced bar in the city.

“This is about a girl,” Luther summarized, half drunk from his shitty low alcohol beer, “or a _boy_.”

“Golly gosh darn it, detective, you’ve really narrowed it down,” Diego mocked.

Luther’s right, obviously, not that Diego will ever confess to that. Ever since he locked eyes with the ethereal looking creature that emerged from the Hargreeves’ home he’s wanted to go back, even with the insatiable and downright fucking gorgeous Eudora on his speed dial. Luther’s been doing the weekly visits for the past three years and Diego’s put in appearances for birthdays so quite frankly the big oaf should welcome Diego’s sudden interest in their one remaining parent.

It’s a little creepy and Diego’s ok with that. Mom is halfway through a story about how the local store ran out of her favorite biscuits when he sees Curls leave which is Diego’s cue to follow him, leaving his blustering, angry Mom shouting at his retreating form. He’ll apologize and pick up a bunch of cheap red roses to keep her sweet. He’s thinking with his dick now, watching Curls rush to wherever he’s going, half-jogging to keep up with his pace when Curls darts into what Diego assumes is a salon.

He steps in. He’ll offer to pay for Curls’ trim or whatever it is twinks buy in salons but the boy has disappeared completely.

“Hi, Sir,” a beautiful woman greets him, _Allison_ tagged on her chest, “how can we help you today?”

“Hi, gorgeous,” Diego purrs, laying it on thick, “how about you get me that cute boy with the curly hair, hmm? Where is he?”

“It’s Allison,” she says pointedly, but she’s only human, a blush on her cheeks from the way he undresses her with his eyes, “and Klaus isn’t trained to cut hair.”

“Klaus?” he asks, filing that information, “well what’s _Klaus_ trained to do?”

“He can make coffee.”

“That’ll do,” Diego says confidently, finding an empty seat. He admires himself in the mirror before watching the ample behind of Allison walk away from him, no doubt to alert Klaus to his admirer.

The newbie wanders out, eyes narrowed. He struts over to Diego, low cut black pants and a soft yellow top clinging to his tiny frame, not leaving anything to the imagination. Diego’s impressed, leaning back, peacocking as he shamelessly checks Klaus out now the man is right next to him.

“Who are you?” Klaus asks, guarded. Diego reaches out from his relaxed position, runs a finger down an exposed forearm, letting it rest on Klaus’s pulse point.

“Diego,” he smiles, “my Mom lives opposite your folks.”

“Ok?”

Klaus remains uncooperative but he doesn’t attempt to remove Diego’s finger from his wrist. Diego decides to join his finger and thumb around the skinny wrist, marveling at how dainty it looks in his hand.

“I’m gonna take you out,” Diego says, grabbing the rest of Klaus’s hand loosely, “treat you to something.”

Klaus just looks at him, useless, before he begins to shake his head. He’s beautiful up close, all large eyes and perfect, full lips, when a kid - a literal kid - interrupts them.

“Please excuse him, he only has one brain cell,” the child, wearing a suit more expensive than Diego’s monthly rent, “ _obviously_ he wants to be taken out by _you_.”

“Great,” Diego grins, daring to leave Klaus’s wrist and settle his hand on a hip instead.

“Five - ”

“Are you blind? Klaus, can you _see_ this man?” Five asks, gesturing to Diego, “and besides, beggars can’t be choosers. You realize he’s out of your league?”

“Thanks, dude,” Diego smirks, not super into sassy teenagers, otherwise he’d collect this entire fucking salon. He can’t be serious, anyway, because in what universe is something as beautiful as Klaus a beggar? He grabs at the bit of a flesh he can find on Klaus’s hips to try and jump start him into speaking, blood rushing south when Klaus whimpers by accident.

“I’m not into dating,” Klaus tries, as if that bothers Diego, starting to claw Diego’s fingers away from him. Jesus, Diego _needs_ to have this one, needs to get those slim thighs wrapped around his waist. He wants to see Klaus open-mouthed and sore and climbing to the edge of an orgasm, all for him.

“I’m not taking no for an answer, princess,” Diego winks, aware that the suited teen is nearby, listening in.

“I’m pretty sure time’s moved on,” Klaus frowns prettily, “I swear, something on the TV… Time’s Too? Me Too? No means no.”

“No means you’re being awkward,” Diego corrects, bored of this conversation, even if Klaus is the most delicious thing he’s seen in years. He bounces off the chair, slaps the round, peachy ass Klaus has on obscene display and makes to leave, not without filing the broken gasp and indignant “ _hey_!” into his spank bank for later.

“I’ll pick you up on Friday at 4,” he confirms, “take you to the city. Wear something pretty.”

He doesn’t bother to look back to check for agreement. He knows Klaus will be ready for him.

  
**

 

_“Hello, 911, what’s your emergency?”_

_“He’s dead - he’s - I, no, not me - someone… he’s dead, please - help - ”_

  
**

 

Klaus orders tacos, devouring them as he saunters back home with the sunlight on his back. He needs to get a proper phone, he decides, can’t make do with that old piece of shit he can’t believe actually turned back on when he raided his closet and found it. Maybe it could really work out. Washing hair and hands, making coffee for his two bosses (“ _Jesus, how are you even bad at making coffee, what the fuck?”_.... he’ll get there), Five actually allowed him to observe an eyebrow waxing session today. All tiny, tiny baby steps, barely there, but perhaps one day he’ll have taken so many tiny baby steps and when he looks back, there’ll be miles and miles of them. He'll have completed, albeit very slowly, a marathon.

 _Do a little, a lot. Just a little, Klaus_.

He’s turning the corner, back to the house when the bright blue stops him where is, taco turning to sludge in his mouth.

_PSYCHO FUCKER_

It’s in royal blue, marking the wall that protects his parent’s garden, huge capital letters announcing to the entire street something that everyone knows but now he's literally branded. On wobbly legs he crosses the road to join Mom in a plastic apron on her knees, scrubbing ferociously, as Dad stares at it as if by his will alone he can make the graffiti disappear.

“Mom,” he announces, both parents jumping at his appearance, “hey, Mom, don’t. I can do this,” he says, Reginald tutting.

“Go inside,” he demands, zero room for compromise, “this isn’t your problem, Klaus.”

“Not my problem? Dad, I - ”

“Did I not make myself clear?”

Grace looks at him pleadingly, her face covered in tear tracks. He knows an escalating argument will only attract attention so he obeys, the guilt in his stomach heavy. It shouldn’t be Mom cleaning those horrid words off their home. Hell, it shouldn’t even be his Father. They tiptoe around each other in silence that evening until the tension makes Klaus feel just like he did back then - eighteen, confused, terrified - and he can’t resist coming downstairs to interrupt their evening television. Reginald looks at him with pity whilst Mom brings him into her side, cuddling her boy close. Klaus fights back the tears, overwhelmed by how good it feels to be touched lovingly.

“I love you, Mom,” he says instead, keeping it together as she runs fingertips through his hair. She’s so soothing, her floral scent, the way her nightdress feels silky against his skin and before he knows it he’s fighting sleep. He hears his Father light up, pipe smoke filling the room. It’s as if eleven years never existed. He’s still eighteen.

“Mom?”

Grace continues to rub his back, not really paying attention to Reginald’s nature documentary anyway.

“Yes, honey?”

“I got asked out today,” he smiles, amused by it now he says it out loud, “someone wants to take me on a date.”

His Father scoffs.

“That’s lovely, darling,” Grace says, ignoring Reginald, “that could do you the world of good.”

“The world of good?” Reginald repeats, amazed, “what kind of complete lunatic would date Klaus? _Considering_ ,” he tacks on, as if that makes up for the rest of his wildly insulting barb.

“Well, yeah, there’s that,” Klaus mutters, “I’ve never seen him before. He said his Mom lives near us.”

“I forbid it,” Reginald snaps.

“You forbid your almost thirty year old son from dating, Dad?” Klaus asks, comfortably resting on his Mother’s shoulder. Grace squeezes Klaus’s arm. That was always their little go-to when Dad was being a prick, a little “ _I’ve got you_ ” or “ _don’t make it worse_.” Klaus hated it back then, hated that Reginald always got his own way whether he needed to bulldoze Grace to get it or Klaus but he particularly hates it now, now he’s fully grown.

“What sort of sane individual would want to date you, Klaus? Or have you not considered your _unusual_ circumstances?”

“Yes, I’ve considered them,” Klaus bristles, “but you can’t forbid it.”

Smoke fills the air. Klaus feels his Mother let out a shaky breath.

“I have no idea what to do with you,” Reginald mutters, reaching for the remote control and turning the volume up. _That’s enough_ goes unsaid.

Klaus counts it as a tiny victory.

**

 

_“Hello, 911, what’s your emergency?”_

_“He’s dead - he’s - I, no, not me - someone… he’s dead, please - help - ”_

_“CODE EIGHT. USE CODE EIGHT. CAUCASIAN MALE, LATE TEENS, FIVE TEN, BROWN HAIR, ONE TEN. MURDER WEAPON HAS BEEN RETRIEVED. THIS IS A CODE EIGHT.”_

 

_**_


	2. Part 2: TEEN GUILTY OF TERRIFYING ATTACK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus can't decide on how to feel, and his date takes an unexpected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah thank you so much for your comments! It's funny reading your theories, I love it! All will be revealed in the final chapter. I'm amazed at myself for uploading Part 2 only a day after Part 1, what are Kliego doing to me?!

 

 _*_ _*_

He was unmatched, back in the day.

Some may say taking pride in your reputation as a Saturday Night Blowjob Prince (or Princess, depending on what tickled his fancy that evening) is tacky, but Klaus was never one for caring what people thought, at least not when it came to sex. He had a steady stream of boyfriends or hookups, sometimes both, ever since he hit sixteen. Fake ID and a lack of giving a shit about the law led him to the town’s local bars, especially _The Establishment_ , where he quickly found that jerking or sucking a guy off made people interested in him.

Klaus Hargreeves, son of the creepy 1950s housewife and her strict, unsmiling surgeon husband, teased mercilessly throughout school for his _faggot_ ways, was somebody. In the bar he was a dancing queen and on his knees in the bathroom he was someone’s little slut for twenty minutes. Men crowded him for his attention and Klaus gave it away in abundance.

Reginald had never once showed him physical affection, so chalk it down to daddy issues if you like, because Klaus reveled in the way men couldn’t keep their hands to themselves whenever he appeared.

There just wasn’t much room for sexual or dating experience building in the psych hospital.

So, he’s rusty.

Plus, Diego doesn’t know who he is. He’s the one person with a connection in this town without a clue about Klaus and his deadly past. It’s been eleven years, and Klaus is sure he’d never…

Five is insufferable from the beginning.

“Please tell me you’re getting changed before 4.00pm,” is the good morning greeting he gets when he arrives at the salon on Friday. Five stands with a clipboard, a bow tie ( _since when did they come back into fashion?_ ), dotted chinos, little bowed shoes. He looks like a Victorian schoolboy and Klaus says it, because he’s right, earning him a sharp slap on the arm.

“You look like a 20 dollar prostitute,” Five shoots back as Klaus begins his chore of checking the appointment calendar. Allison appears with a tray of coffee and he waits for the teasing from her too but she distracts Five by telling him there’s a spider in the office and the boy loves spiders, creepily enough, so off he runs to inspect it.

“I have something you could borrow,” she says once he’s out of earshot, “it would look gorgeous on you. I’ll collect it at lunch.”

“Really?” Klaus asks, touched by the simplicity. He used to borrow clothes back in the day, gathering a collection of skirts and sparkles from his girl friends, much to his Father’s silent disappointment. It feels so natural and normal, light years away from the blank white of the hospital or the suffocation of his childhood home.

“Sure,” she nods, “it’s fine.”

“Hey,” he calls after her before she disappears, “how long have you lived here?”

“About… six years?”

He knows she isn’t born and bred as they’d know each other. There’s two schools - one for kids, one for teens - in Mablemells and he’d remember Allison if she went to either.

“Do you, uh, know if the Kim family are still here? Korean?”

Allison presses her lips together tightly, spine going rigid.

“I googled you,” she admits, guilty, “and I don’t think you should go looking for them.”

“Oh, no,” Klaus laughs, but it’s too high pitched, “I’m not! I just wondered.”

Allison looks him up and down before clip-clopping away.  


**  


Diego drives to Mablemells far too fast. He definitely violated a tonne of speed limits but he’s too fucking pumped thinking about Klaus to care. He knows his Ma will spot his car and give him grief for coming over without popping in, but _Jesus_ , he has better things to do.

He feels like the cat who got the fucking cream when he sees Klaus fighting with his folk’s front door, trying to shut the enormous thing with his bird-like arms. He’s in a gold skirt, knee length, pleated, white crop top and a tiny little denim jacket. He’s festival pretty, Diego raising a hand so Klaus has to walk over to him, still unsure.

“One date,” Klaus warns him as he approaches, Diego hanging out the window. Diego jumps out. He takes Klaus by the hand, walks him around so he can open the door, enjoying his amused tutting.

“Ok, Curls,” Diego swears, not meaning it whatsoever, “hope you’re hungry.”

He blasts _mariacha_ as they drive and once they’re off the motorways he sneaks a hand onto Klaus’s knee, pleased when his date doesn’t remove it. He can’t resist sneaky peeks at Klaus. His make-up suits him, dark smoky eyes and glossy lips framed by that lovely, tuggable head of hair. He’s taking Klaus to the darkest restaurant he knows so his hands can roam without it drawing too much attention from frigid customers, plus they do a steak rack that he’s definitely buying them because Curls is feather-light and tiny. Diego wants to see him eat.

“You must get taken on a lot of dates,” Diego guesses, ordering them both a vodka lime before Klaus rubbishes it.

“I don’t drink,” he tells their server and Diego, changing it to a lime soda.

“No problem,” Diego shrugs, leaning back into their booth, “don’t want you drunk anyway.”

Klaus fiddles with the cutlery in front of him rather than answers. Diego isn’t even mad about his weird ass attitude. He likes a challenge.

“How come I’ve never seen you before? On the Drive?” it suddenly occurs to him, which gets Klaus’s nervous attention.

“I would have visited Ma a hell of a lot more often if I knew old man Hargreeves had you hidden away in there,” he winks, reaching for Klaus’s knee once more, mock offended when Klaus bats him off.

“That’s my _Father_ ,” Klaus admonishes, “and I’ve been - away.”

“Now you’re home,” Diego smiles, deciding to stroke Klaus’s hand instead if Curls is going to be frigid about his soft little thighs. Klaus allows it, looking at him with a hunger Diego knows is lying dormant. He desperately wants to spread Klaus open and play with him while they eat, giving him a little time to relax as they order their food before he makes a play for the hidden flesh under their table.

“Diego,” Klaus complains, but it’s broken, soft, and this time he doesn’t bat Diego away.

“What? Just getting to know you,” Diego grins, pleased with himself as his hand creeps up. He kneads Klaus’s thighs with a gentleness, but not too gentle, cock hardening as Klaus edges closer to the table and opens his legs a little wider.

“That’s a good boy,” Diego praises, reaching over to stab some salted beef with his fork, holding it to Klaus’s lips. Klaus looks directly at him before opening his mouth, chewing it with cute little bites, Diego fondling his thigh. He won’t touch his cock, not here, just get him hot and bothered. Diego hates to be teased but he loves teasing, bringing someone to the edge and forcing them to stay there.

“What’s it taste like, baby?”

He’s leaning in, staring at Klaus like he’s a prize Diego has every intention of claiming. Klaus’s tongue darts out to lick at the corner of his mouth before he takes Diego’s exploitative hand under his skirt and brings it higher, against his panties. They’re lace and they can’t leave much to the imagination, let alone any actual protection or comfort. Diego yanks his date’s smaller paw away, pinching his thigh and gaining a delightful yelp because of it.

“I think you’re mistaken, princess,” he says very slowly, “I’m in charge here. I’ll touch what I want to touch.”

Klaus’s breathing is erratic at this point. He pouts, but Diego isn’t letting that win him over.

“I can’t take the teasing,” he says, almost apologetically, “I can’t remember the last time someone touched me like that.”

Diego’s certainly surprised..

“Don’t lie, baby. Look at you. You’re telling me you’re not the town bike?” he asks, shoving an obscene amount of beef in his mouth.

“ _Excuse_ me!”

Yeah, it _was_ rude, but Klaus’s flustered little face, offended at his honor being questioned makes Diego belly laugh.

“Fine,” he shrugs, shoving the plate away, ready to get the party started, “you want it? Let’s go and fuck.”

“Oh, well, - this is just a date, I’m not - ”

“ - a date where you tried to force me to finger you under the table?”

Klaus’s horrified expression is worth the teasing.

“I didn’t! You - you were grabbing at me! It was making me - ”

“ - wet. Yeah, I know sweetheart, so let’s go and get you dicked down,” he adds, knowing he’s being a shit and loving it, gesturing at their server so he can settle and get Klaus out of here. He’s seen the way other patrons looked at Klaus when they walked in. The men want him bent over for them, the women want him pinned under them, and Diego’s the man who’s _got_ him.

“I’m not _wet_ ,” Klaus blushes as they make to leave, “you know I have a dick, right? You know how biology works?”

“Yeah, I felt your dick when you shoved my hand on it,” Diego continues, sliding a hand around Curls’ little waist, “but you’ll be wet for it. Bet you always have a shitload of pre-come. And I’ll get you soaking wet for my dick.”

Klaus comes to an abrupt halt. It’s dark now but the city’s alive with music and party-goers, girls laughing and boys dancing past them as Klaus stands, looking terrified, if Diego had to label it. Almost to the point he’s concerned. He reaches for the pretty face he’s been thinking about for the past few weeks, bringing Klaus back to him.

“Hey,” he smiles, “you still with me?”

Klaus looks like he’s seen a ghost. He’s shivering despite the temperature so Diego runs his hands down skinny arms, shaking him carefully.

“I can drive you home, if you want,” he eventually says, because dammit, he wants Klaus stretched out and desperate in his bed but he _knows_ he will be, even if tonight isn’t the night. He manages to get Klaus to start walking again, skirt shiny and pretty under the street lights as they get to the block of Diego’s apartment.

“Come on,” he insists, Klaus following obediently as they make their way up. It’s nothing special but he was able to lay a shit tonne of cash down after he got compensation for a fight gone wrong, so he treated himself to somewhere fancier than his previous rentals. Luther was impressed for once as he thought Diego would blow all his winnings on women and boozy vacations but as he pointed out to his repressed big brother, he can get those for free. You just got to know who’s pussy to eat and do it well and _boom_ , free flights to Cuba, _thank you_ , Sugar Mommy.

(Luther had turned a worrying shade of red when Diego informed him of this).

“Sit there,” Diego instructs, pointing at the sofa, heading to the fridge to see what juice he’s got. _Making him a juice, Diego? You’re lucky he’s your age otherwise this really would be perverted_ the voice in his head enjoys pointing out.

He’s happy to see Klaus has obeyed, jacket shrugged off, knees up.

He takes a place next to him, spreads his legs before grabbing Klaus by the hips, turning him with ease and pushing him down, his perky little ass resting in the gap of Diego’s lap.

“Just relax, baby,” he smiles, grabbing his tin case and popping it on Klaus’ tummy.

“You smoke?”

Klaus shakes his head, almost scared.

“Alright,” Diego replies, finding his papers and grinder in the tin. Klaus is laid out beneath him like dessert but first he needs a little something to chill him out. It’s a shame Curls doesn’t seem interested, could definitely do with a pull or two of a joint, but Diego isn’t going to push it. Maybe he can persuade him in other ways.

Rolling up, lighting up, with a gorgeous, skittish twink blinking up at him adorably? This is the Friday night of dreams.

“Um, Diego…”

“You can call me Daddy, princess,” Diego grins, thrusting very lightly against the silky fabric of the skirt to emphasis his point.

“I’m not doing that,” Klaus frowns, watching the smoke curl in the air above him, “you won’t want me to, anyway. Not after I tell you something.”

Diego takes a purposefully long drag, neck stretched, exaggeratedly blowing it out. He knows Klaus is staring up at him and he knows it’s a good look on him. He’s not met someone like Klaus in a long time, even in the city, so it’s beyond him to find such a gem in his Ma’s coffin of a town. He reaches down to play with the curls, comfortable as the weed mellows him a little, enjoying the sight of a cute looking boy at his mercy.

“Curls, there is nothing that’s going to make me not want to ravish you,” he promises, “so get used to it.”

His playful mood is paused when he properly looks at Klaus, though. The boy looks pensive, far too serious and quite frankly, it’s killing Diego’s vibe. He loves a push’n’pull, a “ _no, I couldn’t,_ ” when it’s actually a “ _but I want to_ ”, a hide and seek merry-go-round of flirting until Diego’s had enough of the hunt and he’s ready to pounce. He doesn’t, however, like boys or girls strewed across him like dead, cold fish, sad and unsure.

“Klaus, you’ve ruthlessly murdered the atmosphere,” he tells him, bopping his nose, “so fine, spit it out.”

He lets him move away even though he doesn’t want that. He wants to keep Klaus horizontal and within touching distance but he isn’t going to fight him for it. Crushing the rest of the joint into his ashtray, he watches as Klaus smooths down his skirt, now at the other end of the sofa away from Diego’s wandering hands.

“You’ve never heard of me?” he asks.

“Should I? What, you a big drag name in Mablemells?” Diego can’t stop joking, because honestly, what’s this hot piece of ass going to come out with? He’s always had a weakness for the dramatic twinks of the world but Klaus is pushing 30 and still acting like a princess, which gets Diego’s engine going, for sure, but still, it’s a waste of time.

“Don’t you think it’s odd? Your Mom’s lived opposite us for six years and you’ve never seen me, not even once?”

“So?” Diego shrugs, genuinely unbothered, “I barely ever visit.”

“Your Mom doesn’t gossip, then? Didn’t tell you about me?”

“No, Klaus,” Diego snaps, irritated, “as if my Mom would - ”

He’s interrupted by a faint, odd memory. Ma, shaking her head sadly as she bit into a pink wafer, Diego replying to a sext from some chick as he put in a mandatory twenty minute visit.

_“ - Hargreeves, their boy, Dee. Still in prison, apparently. You’d never think so, looking at them would you?”_

“Oh, yeah,” he tells Klaus, happy they’re back on the same wavelength, “kind of. She said something about your folks and you being in prison. What’d you do, baby? Bet you stole, huh.”

“Diego - ”

“M’surprised they put a cute little white boy like you in prison,” he admits, “must have been _very_ naughty.”

“For God’s sake, Diego!” Klaus yells, the force of his anger making him stand up, “I’m being serious! This is serious!”

“Jesus, ok, relax,” he holds his hands up, although he’s still mildly amused by the whole thing, “tell me, then.”

“Just google it,” Klaus stutters, “and I’ll go. You won’t want me here once you read it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Diego says, fishing for his phone and typing in Curls’s name. He can’t believe how precious Klaus is being, smiling at the mugshot that comes up of a much younger Klaus with even wilder hair. He looks like the twink of Diego’s dreams, _goddamn_ , so sad and pretty. He clicks on the link below it.

 

_MABLEMELLS MURDER: TEEN GUILTY OF TERRIFYING ATTACK ON GRIEVING FATHER_

_In a case that shocked the town, closure has been granted to the Kim family after Klaus Hargreeves, 18, of Edinburgh Drive was found guilty of murder._

 

Diego looks up before reading anymore. Klaus is backed into the other side of the room, body against the wall, bottom lip wobbling. He goes back to scrolling, morbidly fascinated.

 

_Hargreeves, son of Mablemells General’s most accomplished surgeon, was found at the murder scene with the murder weapon. Hargreeves has been charged with diminished responsibility. A team of psychiatrists declared the teen insane._

_Hargreeves will be placed in the state’s most secure psychiatric hospital._

 

“Klaus,” Diego eventually says, head thumping painfully. Looking at him, this slight little thing in a skirt, it doesn’t make any sense. He steps up, slowly, towards Klaus who’s trying to bury himself into the brick wall as if he could disappear.

“Hey,” Diego reassures him, holding his hands up, non-threatening, “it’s alright.”

“How can you say that? Aren’t you scared?"

“A little,” Diego admits, the last brain cell he has telling him to chuck out this supposed psycho before he runs and grabs one of Diego’s favorite carving knives but it’s drowned out by a nonsensical feeling of protectiveness.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

He’s worried Klaus might faint but at least that would be an excuse to hold him. Boxing’s made him smart at telling his opponent’s next move and he knows he’s on thin ice crowding Klaus’s space so he stays back, keeping his eyes on him at all times, ready to spar if needs be. Klaus cannot be a fighter and Diego’s confident in his ability to tackle and pin him but in his heart he knows that won’t be necessary.

Klaus won’t fight him.

“You’ll think I’m crazy,” Klaus says and _fuck_ , it really isn’t the time to get a hard-on, but the way Klaus’s little bottom lip wobbles is doing things to him.

 

“Try me, Curls.”

 

**

 


	3. Part 3: Wild and Dumb and Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They wanted their lives to change so they changed them, just like that.

 

Klaus wipes his running nose with the back of his hand as he fights tears.  


**  


_Hello, 911, what’s your emergency?_  


**  


“Klaus, sit down,” Diego offers, gesturing back to the sofa, pleased when Klaus bites his lip and obeys, tentatively, like he might lash out and run away at any point. Diego keeps close but not too close, ready to bend a skinny arm back. Once Klaus has sunk into the sofa, rubbing at his face and making his pretty eyeliner smudge, Diego sinks onto his knees, looks up at Klaus.

“Go on, then.”

Beautiful tears keep falling down his face but he’s steadier than he was, whispering “ok,” steeling himself.

Diego wants to know everything.  


**  


He didn’t think the evening would play out as it has done. This was supposed to be about sex, and perhaps getting out of his head but legitimately. Fiona’s little plastic tubs he has to piss in every 3 weeks won’t alert the lab with “ _GOT FUCKED IN THE ASS! ALERT, ALERT!_ ” the same way it would if he started drinking.

Diego is looking at him expectantly and for the first time in so many years, Klaus wants to tell the story. Despite himself, he wants to be honest, even though it will only send him down a path of insanity: Diego’s laughter, mockery, perhaps even anger. He doesn’t care. In fact, a beating might take away the pain. Violence or sex: give him either.

“My best friend,” Klaus whispers, uncomfortable how loud he still sounds in the silent apartment, “Ben. We were best friends ever since we were little kids.”

He pauses, trying to remember the breathing techniques they were taught as part of therapy.

 _Smell the flowers, blow out the candles_.

“Yeah, we were, er, really good friends, y’know?” he wipes his nose again, “he was smart. Sweet. Quiet. And then, there’s me.”

Diego strokes the back of his hand.

“So, don’t - don’t be a dick about it, please - but - I kind of, can see things,” he manages to say.

“I’m not being a dick,” Diego tuts, affronted, “see what?”

“Ghosts, things like that,” he mumbles.

“Ok,” Diego smirks, “so does my Ma. You’re not special, white boy.”

Klaus has never had that response before and it leaves him lost for words for a moment, especially maddening because Diego is even more pleased with himself than usual.

“God, _just_ , let me tell my traumatic story without being such an asshole, please?”

“Ok,” he laughs, “fine, carry on,” but Klaus softens when Diego reaches and wipes away a tear.

“Ben, he, uh… he kept having all these problems. I asked him and he’d lie. He always seemed in pain. Just before we turned eighteen he told me that his Dad beats him. Was always calling him a _faggot,_ especially because of me,” - the bottom lip starts to go again - “he thought we were fooling around. We weren’t. But - turns out - Ben was broken. And… he killed himself.”

Klaus rocks forward, reliving the pain of it like being thrown into freezing cold water, ripping the air from his lungs before it’s back and he’s crying into his knees, Diego’s hand on his back, lips by his ear shushing him, reassuring. He’s not sure how long they’re like that, pressed into one another but he finds his composure because the story’s far from over.

“He wrote me a letter,” Klaus sobs, “ _fuck_ , I got a letter two days later. He thought we could still be friends, because of my ghost _thing_ , but he’d be out of his Dad’s clutches. Best of both worlds. Fucking _idiot_.”

He laughs but it’s not funny.

“But it was, I don’t remember, three or four weeks? I’d not seen him. So I went to the cemetery to see his plaque. Thought summoning someone would be easier in a place like that, obviously. It was late. When I got there, his piece of shit Dad was there, crying. He didn’t take kindly to me appearing. He called me a faggot, a whore, said it was my fault Ben was dead. And then - Diego, I - I thought I was being _sick_ . It felt like that. Until I saw him. _Ben_ . It was like he came out of my body? I could feel his anger. There was this huge - huge rock - just lying there, right next to his grave stone and he - he _smashed_ it. Right on the old man’s fucking temple. Just bashed his brains in.

We looked at each other, and then..  He was gone. Zapped back. I don’t know.”

He risks a look at the stranger beside him. He told people this eleven years ago. He was young, foolish, idealistic; thought they’d listen. He knew the places Mr. Kim liked to bruise on Ben’s body. He told them all of it, sure Mrs. Kim would step forward, clear his name. Of course, _no one_ stepped forward to defend the screaming teenager talking about his dead best friend. He had no proof, just a large, blood-covered stone in his hand and a dead body at his feet.

“That must have been real scary, sweetheart,” Diego whispers, stroking his face calmly, making Klaus sob even more so.

He was only eighteen and he was alone, living in the upside down. No defense in the world would take him on.  

A plea on insanity lead to diminished responsibility, hospital over prison. Eleven years because Ben kept coming back, horrified that his passionate moment of utter hatred robbed Klaus of normality. Ben’s guilt was what drove him truly crazy; Klaus ranting and sprinting around his cage screaming at his former best friend was why he spent those first few years in chains half the time, drugged up, tied up, until he stopped fighting. A survival instinct from somewhere forced him to start to look for some light in this never-ending tunnel.

No one ever felt sorry for him. He was a cold-blooded murderer, causing his best friend’s family even more pain than they had already suffered; he was a liar, a fantasist, unable to take accountability for his heinous crime.

His own parents thought he was in love with his best friend and murdered Ben’s Father out of crazed grief.

Diego holds him like he deserves it, as if he _deserves_ to be cradled and kissed and told he’s safe.

“Hey,” Diego says into his skin, all soft and warm, “go and get in bed. I’ll take the sofa.”

Klaus tries to gather himself, gain some composure, because it’s always when his emotions are running high he starts to hear trickles of voices or see glimpses of ghosts, whoever they may be.

“Are you sure?”

He knows by all rational accounts trusting a stranger who’s been as deep as a puddle so far with the unbelievable tale that gave him a household name back home isn’t wise. Klaus has always got by on instinct, listening to the ghosts who came and left. When he began to realize seeing people who aren’t really there isn’t normal he shut up about it, _self preservation_ , until he knew he could trust Ben. Ben told him stories about _gwisin_. He was the only person who made Klaus feel normal in a world that never shut up about how he wasn’t.

“Yeah, go on,” Diego smiles, kinder than he’s ever been, watching as Klaus slips off the sofa and disappears down the hallway.

Diego hears the firm shut of his bedroom door and lets out a soft “ _Jesus Christ_ ,” reaching again for his tin and grinder.  


**  


_“Klaus - ”_

_“You don’t understand!” he screams, throwing hands at the padded walls, wrists littered with bruises from hitting the floor, “Ben is here, please, you have to believe me! I didn’t kill his Dad, I didn’t - ”_

_“2:6, I need a 2:6 in Room 7.”_

“No! No, no, please - ”  


**

 

Diego sleeps well in his living room even if he did forget to close the blinds, sunlight waking him earlier than he’s used to. Adjusting to the conscious world he catches snippets of memories, last night at the forefront of his mind, remembering how the ethereal creature he’s been obsessed with recently confessed to be a ghost-conjuring _brujo_.

 _The poor kid,_ Diego thinks. Klaus may be his age, more or less, but all those years locked up have preserved him, kept him younger than his years.

His Mom really shut down on the whole _brujería_ since she met Kevin and adopted his son Luther, played the all American dream but before they arrived in the States he’d met ancestors, seen her conjure cures, helped her make them. They call it savagery, a third world. White America and those like her have never have the depth to have faith in something unless it came with a side order of hate.

He stirs coffee, assumes Klaus likes his sugary and milky, knocking on his own bedroom door.

“Hello?”

Opening up and seeing his boy sit up, proud head of curls fluffy as ever, a pretty little thing as he brings the covers up to cover his naked skin, Diego pops their drinks on the bedside table, sitting opposite.

Klaus grins sheepishly.

“How’s it going, Sixth Sense?”

“That’s not funny,” Klaus blusters, trying his best not to smile. He looks flushed, pink, and that’s only when Diego considers his outfit, consisting of absolutely nothing on the top half of his body and some gray tracksuit bottoms he found strewn over his breakfast table. It’s never been a challenge getting the object of his affections to give in. Diego learnt all the charming moves and complimented it with excessive training as he got older, his body tight and sculpted which earned him some semi-fame as his boxing got better the stronger he got.

“Would you like to have sex?"

Diego’s brain starts to melt out of his ears, seeing Klaus look at him with that childlike curiosity just after saying _that_ , so innocent and whorish at the same time.

“Absolutely,” he agrees, ripping away at the duvet that still smothers Klaus, delighted to get a look at his lithe, toned body. He grins down at the cute, soft fabric of the panties, making a mental note to treat Klaus to more when Klaus grabs at his face, pushing at his chest, like a little tease.

“Just one thing,” he grimaces, “I’m a virgin.”

“Oh, ok,” Diego winks, “you’re a virgin, I’m the big bad gardener your Daddy - ”

“ - No,” Klaus insists, still pushing him up, “I’m a virgin. Not in a sexy way. In a, never had a dick in my ass, kind of way.”

Diego blinks down at him to process it, initially confused.

“Klaus, you’re not a top, come off it.”

“ _No._ Stop being annoying. I never had the chance to go all the way. Jerking off, blowjobs, yeah, but not… that.”

Diego sits back on his heels, amazed once more at this boy occupying his very expensive Egyptian cotton sheets, making his heart race and his mouth dry and his dick very, _very_ fucking hard. He hasn’t had sex with a virgin for about a decade and the idea of taking Klaus’ virginity is both a blessing and a curse. The primitive part of his brain wants to push out his chest, raring to go, wanting to _claim_ Klaus and make him _his_ , but there’s also the fact he’s going to be doing something very intimate with someone very vulnerable.

He rubs his face with his hands, Klaus staring up, alarmed.

“I thought you’d like it,” he sulks.

“Hey, baby, it’s not a problem,” he switches, quickly, not wanting Klaus to doubt himself, “are you sure?”

“The only reason I never did it was because there’s no way I could take someone back home,” Klaus scoffs, “all the guys I met were so much older than me, I didn’t want to be murdered if I went home with someone and I definitely didn’t want to lose it in a gross, noisy bar bathroom.”

Diego’s dick twitches at the thought of that. Klaus, eighteen, _perfect_ as he arches his back and pushes his ass out for the taking while getting pounded against a rattling bathroom door. He’s a little lost in that fantasy when real time Klaus leans up, a small hand on his crotch, kittenish as he explores, making Diego start to lose any sense of logic as he gives in to the sensation of touch. It’s like that’s all there is, now, just Klaus - _what else could matter?_

He takes those wandering hands and holds them, springing away from the bed to open up blinds, let the morning sun shine upon them. He doesn’t want Klaus in the dark.

“Better,” he agrees with himself out loud, climbing back, pressing Klaus down, feasting on the way his boy smiles. They kiss, sloppy, _slowly_ , Diego wanting it all - he’s a kid in a candy store, he wants it slow and sweet, fast and dirty - until he’s making his way down the body in his care, pressing kisses and biting, tasting, until he’s reunited with those cute panties. A glance up confirms what he knows anyway; Klaus is into it, half-lidded eyes and enthusiastic hands on Diego’s neck, light, not trying to force or take control, but almost to remind himself Diego’s there and he isn’t going anywhere.

As if opening the most desired of all gifts he pulls the panties down, letting Klaus’ dick spring free, the tip a pretty red. Knowing full well Klaus is predicting his next move is going to be to take him into his mouth he shoves bambi-like legs up, keeping those knees tightly together and enjoys the way Klaus moans in surprise.

“Curl your hands around the back of your knees,” he demands, pleased when Klaus obeys, no questions asked. Ideally, Diego would watch his face as he breaks Klaus apart, but no matter. That perfect little ass is presented for him and he’s not wasting any time, spreading open the cheeks to see a pink, tight hole, listening as Klaus whimpers softly.

Smug, he nudges against the boy’s balls with his nose, lips tantalizingly close but just out of reach, delighted as Klaus stutters his name, watching as the hard dick in front of him leaks pre-come, wet, just as Diego thought he’d be. Klaus is gorgeous down here, but they all are in Diego’s opinion: there’s nothing sexier than getting down and dirty like this. He spreads the soft, round cheeks with his thumbs and dives in, tongue over the rough skin of his boys’ hole, drawing gasps of pleasure from his new favorite little love. Dragging his tongue up and down, the wet slick of his tongue opening Klaus further and further, he eats like this ass is his last meal on earth and by _God_ , he’s starving. Slapping hands on the back of Klaus’s thighs, knowing Curls will lose control of his knees soon enough and he can’t blame him for that; Diego’s always been a master with his mouth. Keeping Klaus spread is easy, the little slut predictably starting to lose control, one ankle coming loose as his grip around himself starts to fall apart.

“Diego,” the boy sobs, “Diego - I’m - ”

He draws back, wanting to keep Klaus like that for when he starts to inch his cock inside of him, on edge and toes curling. Coming up for air, he isn’t prepared for what he sees - Klaus arched up slightly, neck on display, eyes full of unshed tears after being played so carefully, making every nerve in his body come alive. Diego’s never seen something so beautiful. The boy’s face, pink and burning to the touch, is as captivating as a work of art. He wishes his phone was somewhere close so he could snap it, so he could show Klaus just how he was made for this, to be torn apart by Diego’s handiwork.

He wipes the damp brow of the wrecked virgin beneath him and plants a kiss on an open mouth, stomach twisting with joy at how Klaus chases his lips rather than shys away from them.

He doesn’t want to lose momentum, not when Klaus is this pliant, open and ready, so he brings shaking knees back together and slides them to one side which leaves a tasty, tempting ass for him to grab. Scooting below the bed, locating some lube, he silently rubbishes the smart voice which reminds him about safety. Klaus is a virgin and has no need to lie about it. If Diego’s going to believe Curls can be possessed to the point of murder, he’s going to take his story about not getting fucked in the ass, too. He’s softened when he catches the pretty thing’s eye, looking at Diego with absolute trust, half-ruined already.

“Ok, baby, I got you,” Diego swears, spreading Klaus open with his spare hand, the other angling his cock at the open, wet rim. He wants to want himself disappear into the flesh there and as he pushes past that ring of muscle, _slow_ , it aches to have to choose, eyes flicking hungrily between the agonized, beautiful expression of Klaus’ face to watching his tight, virgin hole be forced to accommodate cock for the first time.

“I’ve got you, yeah?” he reminds Klaus, mesmerized as the boy’s forehead gathers beads of sweat from the way his body is working to accept Diego’s dick, his pretty, huffy little gasps of both pain and pleasure, the way his hands scrunch so tightly in the sheets below him his knuckles are white.

“Diego,” he begs, voice broken, making Diego want to pop his nut right there and then. It’s a task as it, holding off, when it feel like the tightest, wettest fist in the universe is taking his cock and he’s edging in ever so slightly. He _needs_ Klaus to need this, to be set on _fire_ by it, to be desperate for it, hips meeting hips as he finally gets balls deep.

Klaus says nothing, eyes shut, head thrown back, but he slaps a hand on Diego’s shoulder and digs nails into the flesh he finds there.

So, Diego _moves._

Small, rolling movements; just light, experimenting with circular rolls of his hips, Klaus’ nails becoming looser in his skin. _Yeah_ , he thinks, _that’s it, you love it, you fucking love taking it, don’t you?_ but he’s silent, hell bent on drinking every drop of Klaus’ reaction to getting his cherry popped as if he’s a man wandering through the desert and he’s just found a stream of clean, cold water. He keeps it up, steady, pausing to draw the figure eight with his hips, dragging _aahs!_ and _ooooohs_ from the boy’s lips before he feels unbearable tight but loose enough to fuck. Pulling his cock out, shiver of pleasure running down his spine when Klaus half-sobs at being emptied, he spreads him fully, pushing his dick back into that heavenly tightness.

Klaus’ grips isn’t as tight as it was, the sharp tinge of his nails making Diego feel feral, knowing the boy’s mark will stay on his skin for a few days but he still clings to his lover’s neck desperately. It’s a fantastic look on him, getting fucked, and Diego has every intention on doing it on the daily.

“Oh, baby,” he pants, unable to stop himself, “you like it, yeah? Daddy fucking you real good, princess?”

Klaus must be far gone because he simply sobs “ _yes_ ” rather than bitches at Diego. It’s perfect timing, then, as he hits that sweet spot he knows will make Klaus dribble, make him Diego’s little slut, the boy’s eyes flying open.

“Oh - _oh_ \- ”

Diego’s not able to reign himself in, his boastful nature taking over as he senses that now, _now_ he can pound into Klaus and make him ache for days to come. He grabs a thigh and with renewed efforts slams into the small body beneath him, hurtling towards the finish line himself as there’s no way he can pound into Klaus’ perfect wet heat without spilling inside very fucking quickly. He’s just about aware of the rub of his skin on the boy’s cock, the incessant hitting of that sweet little bundle of joy inside of him, making him shake and come, giving Diego the permission he needs to let go and feel the wave of utter joy claim him with a roar.

There’s always those blurry few seconds afterwards, brain misfiring in the aftermath, until he’s aware of their sticky bodies glued together. He isn’t mad about it and he doesn’t think Klaus is either if the boy’s fucked-out, adoring expression is anything to go by, Diego pushing his hair away so he can kiss his warm, glowing face.

“I hate to make you even more of an asshole,” Klaus pants, “but that was incredible.”

Diego grins against his jaw, beginning to extract himself from the warmth of Klaus’ - now freshly fucked, cherry fully popped, if he may add - dreamy little ass.

“Yeah, baby, you did well,” Diego admits, head over heels as Klaus looks at him lovingly after being praised. Of course this pretty idiot has a praise kink after his entire life being told he’s an abomination, insane, wrong - well, Diego doesn’t mind changing that. Peppering kisses across the boy’s face he feels goddamn _butterflies_ in his stomach when Klaus begins to laugh and it’s the most adorable thing Diego’s ever seen or heard, both of them basking in the afterglow.

Sunshine, morning kisses, miles of unmarked, sensitive skin: he could get used to this. He wants to get used to it.

“Move in with me,” Diego suggests, love-drunk and stupid.

Klaus properly laughs, snuggled into his shoulder and staring up.

“Don’t be a dick.”

“I’m not. Come on. Stay with me. You can bring your ghosts. I don’t mind. Don’t waste anymore time, _conejito_.”

 

A smile dances across Klaus’ face, tender, barely there. He’s as soft as Diego is in that moment, vulnerable yet brave as he nods, leaping into an unknown ocean, wild and dumb and free.

 

**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The power of love, eh? Heh. I love the idea of utterly defies-all-logic behaviour, idk, what can I say?! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the outcome - I'm sure these two will have a lot of chaotic fun together! Leave me a comment 'cause they make me smile! - B 
> 
> <3


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